Out of Love(92)

After years of rehabilitation, she fully recovered, all while taking on a new identity far away from friends and family who all assumed she did in fact die. Jackson sent her to bring his grandchild safely into the world.

It was a ten-minute drive to the only structure on the island, our house.

“Eddie … it’s stunning …” She leaned forward, head swiveling in every direction as we pulled to the small drive of our small two-bedroom bungalow on the beach. The island was tiny, so basically everything was on the beach.

Referring to me as Eddie, my new name, surprised me. I assumed I’d always be her Wylder.

Before I got the ATV in Park, she jumped out and ran to the side of the house and straight to the beach. “The waves! Oh my gosh! I can surf these babies!”

“I’ve got this.” Hope giggled as she pulled out the bags. We had very little with us, most everything else had been delivered earlier.

Jericho followed me to the beach as Livy kicked off her sandals and lifted her sun dress, running to the water. “No surfing with my baby still inside of you.”

She ignored me, wading farther out until it reached her belly, soaking the bottom of her dress. “I’m going to surf for the rest of my life.” She turned and gave me the first real smile I’d seen on her face since the day I carried her away from her father, sobbing and crying, “It’s not fair.”

It wasn’t fair.

It was life.

“And you…” she drudged through the water back to the beach “…will hunt and fish.”

“Oh, I will, huh?” I grinned, sliding my arms around her.

“You bought me an island,” she whispered, shaking her head as the first real sparkle of life came back to her brown eyes.

“I bought you an island. It seemed like the only fair thing to do since you won’t be president.” I pecked her lips. “Let’s go inside. I’m starving and you should be too.”

*

Wylder James came two weeks early, weighing in at six pounds, eight ounces and one hundred percent perfect.

I didn’t know how to be a dad. Livy said fathers have two jobs: to love and protect.

That I could do.

I wasn’t sure any father had ever loved their son the way I loved Wylder. And I knew it the second he first looked at me.

Livy called them moments.

“Moments …” Livy (because she was forever my Livy) said as she breastfed our son and drank tea in a lounge chair under a palm tree as the sun set.

“What moment this time?” I asked, carving an odd figure out of a piece of driftwood.

“This one. I like it, but it’s incomplete. It’s bittersweet. It’s everything, but with an asterisk. Your mom has a grandson, so does my dad. One they will never see.”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?” she parroted.

“Your dad doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would really let his daughter go forever.”

“What are you saying?”

I offered another shrug, focusing on what looked like a dolphin taking shape. Or a wood turd. “I’m saying … I think your dad isn’t ready to let me win quite yet.” I squinted one eye and gave her a quick glance.

Hope.

Hope did a lot of things. In that moment, it breathed life into my wife. It gave her back her most genuine smile. Hope came with no promises. It offered no solutions. It fought the good fight and knew when to let go. And I knew the most likely scenario was that she would never see her father again. But life was too fucking short to lose hope.

She stretched her leg out and dug her toe into my side until I grinned, keeping my head down and focusing on her birthday present taking shape. “I love you.”

I set the knife and wood down. Then I grabbed her foot and kissed my way up her leg, over her soft belly, stopping to kiss Wylder on the cheek before continuing up her neck and to her ear.

“I love you back.”

*

Livy

After putting nine-month-old Wylder to bed, I peeked out the window at my husband sitting in the sand next to Jericho, gazing into the dark night and endless miles of ocean. He did it every night. I never asked why or what he thought about. His dark, mysterious side is what first drew me to him, so I let him have his moments, his time alone.

Retrieving a piece of paper and pen from the kitchen drawer, I sat at the table and wrote him a note.

What did you think of me the first day in class?

When did you know you loved me?

How often do you think about your mom?

Do you really think I’ll see my dad again in this lifetime?

What went through your mind when you saw me after five years apart?

When should we give Wylder a sibling?

Do you have a stick of gum?

XO Your Livy always

I left the note by the door and retired to the bathroom for a soak in my tub. After I shaved and shampooed, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. Minutes later, something hit the top of my head. After a quick glance around and no signs of anyone, I spotted a paper airplane on the floor next to the tub. Stretching my arm over the edge, I nabbed it and unfolded it—my note to him.

What did you think of me the first day in class?

I thought you were pesky.

When did you know you loved me?

The morning after my gunshot wound.

How often do you think about your mom?